


The Gift of Release

by Aewin



Series: The Gift that Keeps on Giving [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bondage, Desperation, Dirty Talk, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Omorashi, Situational Humiliation, Verbal Humiliation, Wetting, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:35:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aewin/pseuds/Aewin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which an argument occurs, and Karkat and Sollux get into a (literal) pissing match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of Release

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Legorandia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legorandia/gifts).



> There was a certain line from Wriggling Gifts that seemed to capture people's attention, and I've gotten several requests to make it happen. The first was from ClosetPieces, and they've encouraged my omorashi kink from the get-go, so this is dedicated to them with love <3
> 
> I meant to write this back at the beginning of the summer but I got distracted with Biological Imperative and HSWC stuff. But it's sort of a mixed blessing that I didn't write it until now, because I only experimented with the kink for the first time a few weeks ago. The delay gave me some real-life experience to draw on, which is always nice.

You’re _almost there_ , so close you can feel it. You’ve just gotta find the line that’s hanging you up, and you’ll be good to go. A quick wipe of your sleeve against your mouth as you set your empty can of Energy Grub down, and then you’re back in the game with both hands on the keyboard, leaning forward to scan the lines of code as they scroll past. Red. Blue. Blue. Red. Syntax error—wait, false alarm, the lines are just bleeding together. The world needs to slow its ass down. You sweep your can off the desk and reach into your side drawer to grab another Grub without blinking an eye. You’re efficient. You’ve got this shit down. Shouldn’t take long to finish this one, then you can take a quick break to relieve yourself before you start something else.

“Sollux.” The voice is far-off, soft and fuzzy. Not talking to you. You pop the tab on the can and take a swig.

But what to work on next? The Trojan hoofbeast, maybe. Yeah, that’ll do. Completely new method of operation, self-replicating, can pack whatever you want in it for easy distribution. It’s the perfect payload propagator. Plus the name is wicked, you _have_ get this out there before someone else takes it. General Trojan Horrus, threshecutioner of the ancient Alternian empire, how perfect is that? You’ll be a _legend_ , just like he is. You grin and crack your knuckles as you continue to scan the screen. Puns are the _best_.

“—psionically-fried pan Sollux, but you fucking promised—”

Someone’s trying to get your attention, but _whatever_ , they can talk when you’re done. If you have to wait for a break, they can too. You flap a hand in the direction you think the voice came from.

“Ehh.”

Was that—oh, this looks promising. You squint closer to be sure. Red, blue, blue, red. Fucking _score_ , this is the section that’s out of order, all you have to do is switch the colors up and you’ve secured your position at the top of the pack—for another few days, at least. Too bad KK isn’t a half-decent hacker, really. If you had some backup you’d have no problem staying ahead of the rest of these idiots. You’re way better than they are, but there are just _so. many._ of them.

Something taps insistently against your temple.

“Nnnnngh.” It’s a little whiny, but fuck, can’t they see you’re busy? You take another gulp of Grub while the code compiles. Shouldn’t take long, on this beast of a machine. God damn, but you love this thing. It’s _so beautiful_ , able to pull in processing power from your entire server array, and you think you might have been the first one to come up with the idea.

Someone pinches at your arm, and you shake them off, irritated.

“Holy _shit_ , I’m trying to code here.” You drain the last of your Grub before tossing it into the bin beside your desk. It bounces off of the mountain already in there. Crap, you need to take that out at some point. The humming buzz of the bees stops, and you stretch once before leaning in to check on the program—

Except you don’t get to. Claws dig deeply into both of your arms and force them behind you, and you barely have time to realize what’s happening before you’re bound to the chair by well-used rope and spun around to face KK. He’s scowling, so you do the logical thing and snarl at him.

“KK, I hope for your sake that you didn’t know I was busy when you decided to do this. Oh wait—I _know_ you knew, because I fucking _told_ you, are you shitting me with this stupid innocent act right now? That was one fucking minute ago, _two_ at the best, and I know you have a bad memory sometimes but I’m pretty fucking sure that even _you_ —”

He slaps his hand over your mouth and the rest of the eloquent complaint that you were going to deliver goes unsaid because now you’re busy trying to _bite_ his miserable ass. The hand draws back, and he sighs at the glare you give him.

“No. Just— _no_. You promised unequivocally that movie night would happen. Remember last time? Hmm? When you quite literally passed out at the keyboard and I had to haul your muttering, overworking ass into the ‘coon? You were _coding in your sleep,_ but fuck if you had time for a movie. Or—oh, oh! I know! How about the time before that, when you locked me out? _That_ was fun, not being able to get into my mate’s hive while the security check was going on. Drones? HA! Like _that’s_ going to get the amazing Sollux Captor’s attention, what a silly wrigglerish thing to be paying attention to when he has sloppy code to gaze at whilst romantic stars surface in his eyes, which, _I might add_ , is not something you do for _me_ , your fucking _mate._ ”

“Hey—” you protest. It’s not _sloppy_. You take great pains to ensure a perfect balance of red and blue for maximum efficiency.

“NOPE. NO, NO, NO, NO, NOPE. We are _not_ having an argument, we are _not_ stepping out for a quick bite of pizza, and we are most grub-fucking-assuredly _not_ putting the brakes on the movie because _you_ got your worn-five-days-in-row undies in a fetid, stinking twist. It is not a thing that is going to happen.”

“Three,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze.

“ _Five._ ”

“It’s Cullday, I changed on Condescenday.”

He laughs, almost hysterical. “It’s _Grubday_ , Sollux.”

Oh. Well, then. “At least I slept this time. I’m not as bad as you seem to think, KK. I’m not tired or anything,” you supply helpfully.

“Then, pray tell, is there a reason you’ve been slurping so many goddamn Grubs that the waste bin looks— _and_ smells—like a hatching cave gone sour?”

“Um.” You think. “They’re delicious?”

His scowl deepens, and he shakes his head. “No. No they’re _not_ , Sollux. You need an intervention. And I need someone to watch “In Which A Rustblood With A Sopor Problem Mistakes A Pizza Delivery Drone For A Concupiscent Drone And Flees Hive Like A Traitorous Wriggler Rather Than Face His Delicious Cheesy Fate And Then Proceeds To Fall Into A Breeding Cavern Containing An Enclave Of Jadebloods, One Of Which Disguises Him As One Of Their Own Out Of Misplaced Pity; He Then Proceeds To Live Night To Night As A Scandalous Jade Male, Ostensibly Only Until An Escape Route Is Found, But He Grows To Enjoy Caring For The Mother Grub And Becomes So Skilled At It That The True Jadeblood Vacillates Black For Him Until They Are Discovered And Must Abandon The Caverns To Perpetuate Their Budding Hatred, Only To Be Caught In The Open Desert And Burnt To A Crisp Together In The Light Of The Sun; A Tale Of Romance And Passion For The Ages, Containing Several Cullable Offences, A Disguise Of Highly Dubious Efficacy, Terrifyingly Accurate Depictions Of The Sun's Heinousness That Have Been Deemed Suitable For Those Of Five Sweeps Onward, One Flush/Pitch Vacillation Of Moderate Intensity, And Unrealistic Expectations Of Non-Jade Proficiency With Mother Grubs: An Adaptation Of The Award-Winning Novel” with. Let’s go.”

You raise your eyebrows at him and jerk your head at the inconvenient ropes tying you down to the chair.

“Right.” He takes a deep breath and grasps the back of the chair, and then he grunts and drags you—chair and all—into the recreation block, ignoring your attempts to dig your heels in and stop him. He dumps you unceremoniously in front of the couch and pulls up the video without once indicating that he might untie you at any point in the foreseeable future. You squirm and wriggle, trying to slip a wrist out of the ties, but KK’s gotten pretty good at tying you up over the last sweep or so. Not that you’re complaining. Well, you’re usually complaining, but not about _that_.

You groan at the memory of the last time he had you bound to a chair. It was more than worth the slight discomfort to have him rolling his hips in your lap like that. Nngh, actually, it might have been _this_ chair. Fuck. You’re getting wet just thinking about it, and your bulge is starting to come to life inside of you, squirming against your sheath with interest. But there’s another pressure further back, one that’s been nagging at you for an hour or two. You were going to take care of it when you finished that program, but KK sort of ruined that particular plan. There’s no way you can make it through a two hour movie like this.

“Can you let me go now, KK?”

“Nope.”

Fuck, what crawled up _his_ waste chute and culled itself? You try to distract yourself by focusing on the movie, but as the title implied it’s full of boring cliches, and you can’t decide if the acting or the writing is worse. You weren’t having much of a problem with the discomfort before, but now that you’ve noticed it the fullness of your bladder is impossible to ignore. Time to suck it up and beg.

“…KK. _Please_ untie me?”

“And why the grubspewing shitloaf would I do that, when I finally have you here and participating in the ancient and revered tradition known as movie night for the first time this sweep?”

You squirm a little, rubbing your legs together. It’s partly from the shame, partly from needing to pee, partly to put some friction on your needy nook. Your body equates being restrained with pailing now, because the only times you’ve ever been tied up in your life were while KK was fucking you senseless, so it’s doing everything it can to _prepare_ you for pailing. The thin fabric of your boxers is getting damp with the fluid dripping from your nook, and your bulge is swelling so quickly that it’s putting unneeded strain on your bladder. You squeeze your legs together tightly, but that’s not going to hold your bulge in—or your bladder back—for long.

“KK, I gotta take a piss, just—nnngh. _Please_ , fuck. Let me go.”

He glances at you and rolls his eyes when he sees you squirming. “Fuck off, you insufferable douchebomb. If you can sit in front of the husktop for hours at a time without going, you can sure as hell sit here long enough to watch a movie.”

“But—” God, he’s an ass sometimes. You already _sat_ there for hours, and you’re reaching critical mass here between the swollen, painful lump in your abdomen and the bulge-tips just starting to squirm out of your sheath. You clench your teeth and try one last time. “I’ll burn these flimsy fucking ropes off, don’t think I won’t. Just—take them _off_ , damn it.” It might be a bluff. You’re not sure. Can you even control your psionics right now, as distracted as you are? Eh, it’s worth a shot.

He looks over at you, and you make every effort to appear pitiful—not that it’s difficult, because you’re turning into a fucking _mess_ here. You’re pretty sure your nook juices are leaking through your jeans by now, but it’s okay—you just need to get out of the chair and into the ablution block so you can relieve yourself. In multiple ways, heh. You notice KK giving you a _look_ that’s got you scrambling to decipher it, and by the time you realize it means trouble he’s dive-bombed into your lap with his arms twined through the rope behind you. Shit. You _can’t_ burn the stupid ropes with him there.

And fuck, he’s pressed up against you in an extremely awkward hug to get at the ropes, growling and clawing at you, with a good portion of his weight resting against your stomach. It’s hell on your aching bladder, but you’re also tied up with KK on top of you, and that’s enough for your body to give up at least one of its fights. Your bulges twist out of your sheath in one quick, shudder-inducing moment, and the event does not go unnoticed. KK smirks and grinds against you.

“Well, well, well. Would you look at that, the nerd wonder gets off on the weirdest fucking things. How about we play a game, Sollux? You get me off, and I let you go. It’s that simple.”

“I do _not_ get off on this, I— _ahh—_ ” His knee pushes against you, just above your bulges, and you can _feel_ your traitor anatomy start writhing harder. There’s not quite as much pressure on your bladder now that you’re unsheathed, and it _does_ actually feel kind of good, like if you can get off before you humiliate yourself it will be the most _relieving_ orgasm of your life. Between that and the need to one-up KK, you can’t say no.

“You know what, KK? Fine. I can do this. It’ll be great. Challenge fucking accepted. Lay it on me.”

He grins, and you grin back, and the game is _on._

His hand darts down to rub at you through your damp jeans, and your hips jerk up despite the fact that you were expecting it. But—maybe if you put on a show he’ll come faster? It’s worth a shot. You bite at your lip lightly and grind up into his hand—and _yes_ , look at that, he’s so easy to manipulate, just pops your button and unzips your fly and shoves his hand in to squeeze at you without any further prompting. The groan you let out at the fondling isn’t exactly insincere. He leans forward and mouths at your neck, sucking and licking in light little pulses that make your breath hitch. His fingers migrate down to rub at your nook and you let out an embarrassing yelp that makes him laugh against your neck.

“Little excited, Sollux? You’re dripping clear through your jeans, I can feel it pooling down there. Unless you pissed yourself already, which I wouldn’t rule out entirely given your complete lack of shame when it comes to pailing me.” He tugs at your pants, taking your boxers with them—hah, and he calls _you_ the needy one—and you brace your feet on the floor so you can lift your hips for him. It was sort a stupid thing to do, because the use of your core muscles just brings your attention back to your straining bladder. You clamp your legs together as soon as your pants are off, but he pries them back apart almost as quickly as you can shut them, and shoves your chair against the arm of the couch.

Karkat sinks to his knees and nuzzles your nook with his nose, taking an exaggerated sniff.

“It doesn’t _smell_ like you pissed yourself, but we’d better make sure before we start.” And then the little fucker licks a wide stripe from the bottom of your seedflap up to the base of your bulges, making your nook flutter dangerously.

You gasp, but there’s a bit of wince attached to it as you tighten up. “ _Damn it_ , KK. What the hell were you gonna do if I _had_ pissed myself? Who’s the fucking weird one now?”

He snorts as he stands and starts stripping his clothes off. “It was pretty obvious you hadn’t, numbwits. Besides, if you _had_ , I would have made you pail me anyways, like the little freak you are. You would have liked it, I’m sure.”

“Holy fuck, KK. It’s like every time you open your mouth, the idea of pissing on you becomes a more and more attractive option. It’s uncanny.”

“Holy fuck, Sollux. Every time you open your mouth I’m more and more tempted to humiliate the hell out of you. How’s that for uncanny?”

You shudder as he drapes himself over you and lets his bulge tease at your seedflap. Each tiny touch makes you twitch, and with your legs spread wide like this it’s hard to stay in control. He throws his arms over your shoulders and leans in to nip at your bottom lip, still brushing against you in tantalizing little flicks. You’re about to hook your legs around him and _pull_ him into you when he abruptly slips his tongue into your mouth and buries himself inside of you, adding pressure in all the wrong places. One arm is on your hip and the other is braced against the couch, and the lack of distance between you means there’s no way in hell you’re going to be getting inside of him at this angle.

He starts to thrash inside of you, and you half-sob, half-moan with frustration over the way every thrust and twist jostles you and makes your stomach and bladder lurch. He doesn’t stop kissing you, and the combination of his movements with your moans makes it turn sloppy very quickly. You don’t have the focus left in you to kiss back though, not really—you’re too busy desperately squeezing your legs together around him and doing your best to ignore the way every flick against your globes nearly makes you lose it.

Your face is starting to get sticky and wet from KK’s crappy, unfocused makeouts, and it’s kind of disgusting. And possibly even more annoying than the fact that you’re about to piss yourself, which—wow, that’s not something you ever thought you’d say.

“Fuck—could you _get_ any sloppier, KK? If this situation gets any wetter you’re not even going to _notice_ if I piss myself.”

He bites down hard on your lower lip and moves to your neck. “Yeah I will, because that’s when you’re gonna come, isn’t it? You’re gonna get off to it like the shameless little pailslut you are.”

You let out a long, whiny moan. Something about the way he rubs your nose in every weird or disgusting thing about yourself always gets you off, and it’s also a twisted reassurance that no matter how utterly filthy and bizarre you are, he’ll still be here with you. Your cheeks burn with a hot blush, and you can’t even bring yourself to snap back at him because he’s _right_ , you’d probably get off on it. But you’re not giving in. You’ve got a point to prove, and you have a hunch that coming would relieve a lot of your discomfort and let you win the game. But your bulges are trapped between you and KK, so if you want to come you’re going to have to focus your attention on your nook.

Your legs are already tight enough against him that it probably _hurts_ —and that’s fine by you because he _deserves_ it for turning your bladder into a throbbing, painful lump of rock. But you can’t exactly get your thighs closer together for friction, and his movements are already providing plenty of stimulation, so you do the only thing you can think to do to ramp up the intensity and get yourself closer to orgasm—you slide a bit lower in the chair and grind your nook and the base of your bulges against him. It takes stress off of your bound and aching arms, which is nice, but it also shifts KK with you since he’s attached to your neck like the horny, opportunistic parasite he is.

His hand slips from your hip at the movement, and he falls forward heavily. The sudden extra weight forces a small spurt of urine out, and you bite your lip hard and clench the muscles of your nook as tightly as you can while being fucked. It’s all you can do just to warn him, and even then it comes out stilted and cracked.

“Hh—KK, _I can’t_ —god, let me go, or it’s gonna get all over— _ahh_ — _both_ of us, oh _fuck, fuck, fuck._ ”

“I’m almost there, just fu— _ah,_ fucking hold it.” He pulls your legs up until they’re over his shoulders and thrusts deeper into you, his swollen bulge curling between your shame globes, and fuck, this must be why they’re called _shame_ globes, because there’s no way in hell you can hold it now, not with the separation of your thighs and the added pressure deep inside of you. Your nook gives up and releases another warm jet of urine, and you can feel it leaking out around KK’s bulge.

You throw your head back, scraping your horns against the chair, and choke out a half-scream half-sob as you try to clamp down hard enough to stop yourself from pissing. Your nook flutters for an instant, torn between biology and your best efforts, but several more spurts force their way through. It’s almost orgasmic in a sick kind of way—wave after wave of relief, physically violent and uncontrollable—and your body is screaming at you to just give in because it would be _so amazing_ , but you _can’t_ lose to KK, you fucking _can’t_ , not after all this.

“ _Nnghh_ , so fucking _warm_ , that’s _hot_ , oh _fuck._ ” Karkat curls his bulge deep inside of you, brushes against your globes one last time, and floods you with his slurry. It’s too much—it’s physiology flipping you the bird and pushing past even _your_ stubborn determination, and even if you weren’t right on the edge, your insides just don’t have enough _room_ to hold your slurry _and_ his slurry _and_ a full bladder of piss. Something has to give, and that something is apparently your dignity. Unbidden tears drip hot and shameful down your face as you finally let go, releasing a thick, heavy stream around KK’s bulge as he pulls out of you.

It doesn’t _end._ Every time you think you’re done more forces its way out, and you’re helpless to stop it. KK’s never going to let you forget about this—but _god_ , it might be worth it, because with every splash and trickle onto the floor a little bit of tension disappears, replaced by an entirely different sort of desperation that burns low and heavy and hard inside of you. Karkat shoves three fingers roughly into you as the final droplets of piss and slurry drip away, and hisses into your ear as his other hand finds your bulge.

“God, look at you Sollux. You’re just the perfect, slutty little pail-for-hire, aren’t you? Tied up and willing to be used for anything. I don’t know whether to call you a miracle or a disgrace.” He bites viciously at your ear and twists his fingers inside of you, increasing his pace. Your thighs tremble, your back arches, your breath hitches with a sob—and then he bumps up against your globes once, twice, and you’re _gone_ , shooting thick pulses of slurry onto your shirt while you clench and drip around his fingers. You twitch with oversensitivity but he keeps working at you, teasing lightly at your globes and sliding his thumb into the fork between your bulges.

And fuck, just—damn him, and damn how well he knows you, because you come _again_ at that and he massages you through it, squeezing the last drops of fluid out of your disgusting, traitorous body. He wipes his fingers on the sleeve of your shirt and flops over you again, and the most embarrassing part of this entire incident may just be that you’re _purring_ despite the fact that your face is streaked with drying tears and your feet are resting in a cooling puddle of your own fluids. Karkat gently licks into your mouth and comes away with his lips streaked in blood from a cut that you didn’t even know you _had_. He smirks at you.

“I told you you’d get off on it.”

You sigh at the sad truth and slump even further, jiggling the ropes to remind KK they exist. You don’t have the energy to fight him, not any more. You feel empty on the inside and filthy on the outside, and you just want to clean up and maybe eat something and dive into the ‘coon before you pass out in the fucking chair.

Karkat unties the ropes for you, gloating silently, and you rub at your wrists while trying to forget that you just peed yourself like a wriggler—but it’s a little difficult when there are still sticky reminders trailing down your thighs and souring the air. _Fuck_ , it’s been a long night.

“Go rinse off, Sollux. You reek. I’ll join you when I’m done in here, and then we can finally watch this damn movie together.”

You shut your eyes and groan. You forgot about the movie.

“Piss off, KK.”

He nearly falls over laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone that's interested, [here](http://solluxisms.tumblr.com/post/59963894741/way-way-too-much-tmi-about-me-under-the-cut-i) is the utterly TMI tumblr post recapping my own omorashi adventure.


End file.
